"I've been hit," Malthooz announced in disbelief.

He groaned, feeling for the first time the full pain in his back just under his shoulder blade. The back of his tunic was stained red, a crimson patch growing slowly down his side as the blood leaked from the wound. The feathered end of a crossbow bolt stuck from his skin. The bolt was buried deep in his body, if the small tip still visible was an indication. His arm tingled and he felt himself losing sensation in his fingertips.

Malthooz had felt the impact when the bolt hit, like being punched in the shoulder, but he'd thought someone had bumped into him. It was only when he slammed his back against the hard wall and felt the shaft grind inside his shoulder that he realized the truth.

Krusk knelt down next to him and examined the wound. Malthooz howled as the barbarian probed with his finger inside the wound, feeling for the head of the missile.

"It's gone in deep, too deep to get it out here," he said.

The swarthy color was draining from Malthooz's face, and he slumped against the closed door. Krusk supported him as he slid down the wood, leaving a dark streak of blood down the rough surface.

"No, it's best to leave it," Lidda said, with an edge of fear in her voice. "It'll slow the bleeding."

"We have to find shelter quickly or we'll all be sprouting little sticks with feathers," Mialee said coldly, eyeing the street. "Maybe we can find an open building down by the wharves."

"With who knows how many gnolls firing on us the whole way?" Vadania asked, slamming the wall with her fist in frustration. "We'd be cut to shreds."

"What other choice do we have?" Lidda yelled at the druid.

"Hsst." Krusk ran a hand across his throat, pointing with the other at the black-clad figures approaching from across the street. "We're out of time. There're no choices left to make."

He let Malthooz down to the ground and propped him sitting up in the doorway. Malthooz sighed as his body came to rest on the cool stones. His eyes lost their focus and the fear on his face was replaced with a peaceful calm.

"Go," he said, "leave me here. You can't help me and I can't help you."

His head sank back against the wall and his hand slipped into the front of his shirt, where the wooden symbol of Pelor hung.

The men in the street were drawing closer, closing in across the square toward the companions. Krusk could make out four of them. Their every movement was graceful. Too skilled, Krusk thought, to be part of the city watch.

"The crossbows have stopped," Lidda said, peeking around the corner. "Too bad. Maybe they would have hit one of those killers by mistake." She moved into the street, drawing her sword.

Krusk rested his hand against Malthooz's brow. The half-orc stirred at the touch of skin. His eyes opened and he lifted his head from the wall. His lips moved as though he was about to speak, but he had nothing to say. He just smiled at Krusk and let his head fall back against the wall.

"I'll stay with him," Vadania said. She put her hand on Krusk's shoulder. "I'll do what I can. Lidda and Mialee need your help."

A grim determination settled over Krusk. His concern for Malthooz slipped away as he felt the reassurance of anger overtaking his mind. The rage that had simmered all afternoon boiled to the surface. He had been tricked, cheated, and imprisoned. His friend, a half-orc like himself, was dying before Krusk's eyes. Someone was going to pay. He raised the axe above his head and erupted into the street.

The four assassins fanned themselves out in the open street as Krusk flew past Lidda and bore down on them like a charging bull.

Each of the men wielded a different weapon. The tallest of them brandished a katana and a small, spiked shield. Behind him came another swinging a long, spiked chain that he held by two circular handles that were equally spaced from the fist-sized, spiked balls at either end of the chain. The spikes on the chain were matched by those the man wore strapped on his hands. The last two moved almost as though they were one. They were identical by all appearance, the similarity following through even to the long, curved daggers they held in each of their hands. The assassins stepped up to meet Krusk's charge as the barbarian thundered across the space between them.

Krusk's axe met the assassin's katana in a ringing of steel and a shower of sparks. Instantly the man crouched down, deflecting Krusk's weapon to the side then swinging his blade back at the barbarian as he rolled away. It was a defensive strike with little power, and Krusk simply let the blow land. He wasn't interested in defending himself, only in attacking. The katana struck his armor, sliced through the leather, and bit a shallow gash across the half-orc's ribs. Without pausing or flinching, Krusk spun to face the circling assassin.

The barbarian's heavy axe was no match for the swiftness of the man's sword, nor was Krusk half as agile. The barbarian moved in on the swordsman with his full bulk, ignoring the katana while he set up a smashing blow. The assassin held his weapon ready, backing away as the barbarian came on.

Krusk rushed in with his axe held high over his head. He knew he was leaving himself wide open to the man's attack, but he also knew that the pinprick of the sword would never stop him before his axe split the man's skull. The assassin thrust his blade as he dodged to the side, away from the sweeping axe. Krusk felt the weapon slice his thigh as he rushed past.

The cut felt like no more than a sting through Krusk's rage. He spun again and rushed back, much faster than the assassin expected. Again the man tried to dodge and slash, but Krusk had just seen that maneuver. With a slight twist, he let the katana bite into the heavy leather protecting his gut. The keen edge sliced into the armor just deep enough to draw blood, and there it lodged. Realization froze the assassin for only a split-second, but that was all Krusk wanted. His axe whistled downward, cleaving through the swordsman's right shoulder, ribs, and spine, stopping only when it struck the pelvis. The body peeled away in a butchered mess on the pavement. A quick snatch freed the shivering katana from Krusk's armor. With a sneer, the barbarian set the tip against the pavement and stomped on the blade, shattering it into slivers.

The twins circled to either side of Lidda in an obvious attempt to flank the rogue. Obvious, but effective, she thought. She would have to choose one to attack, and when she did, the other would stab her in the back. No subtlety needed. Lidda backed up, biting her lip, trying to buy some time. She couldn't allow one of them to get behind her.

She spun suddenly toward the assassin moving to her right. She took three quick steps forward, waving her sword arm in an obvious threat while her left hand slipped a throwing dagger from the sheath on her thigh. Instead of giving ground as she hoped, the man grinned and stepped ahead to meet her challenge, his twin daggers crossed in front of his chest defensively.

"I should have guessed that you wouldn't opt for even odds," Lidda said to the approaching twin. Before he could respond in any way, she spun and threw the dagger into the throat of his partner, who had advanced silently to within only feet of her unprotected back. Without a pause, she was again facing the first antagonist. "You should know that I have tricks of my own."

Behind her, the man gurgled and clutched at the knife hilt protruding from his throat. He would have screamed, but the blade was blocking his windpipe. Desperately, he wrenched the weapon from the wound. Blood gushed over the front of his black armor and flooded down the severed windpipe into his lungs. He stumbled backward, letting the knife clatter to the pavement. After two more steps, he fell to the street. His whole frame convulsed with the effort of fighting to get air into his drowning lungs. Lidda heard the commotion and knew that it would continue for a few minutes before the assassin finally blacked out, but he was no threat in that condition.

She grinned and asked, "What do you think of the odds now?"

The man spat,"Only that he was the lesser of us, so the odds haven't changed as much as you think."

At close range, Lidda could see that the two men definitely were twins. The man's coldness over his brother's death chilled her and brought Malthooz back to her mind. She understood that she faced a cruel and calculating killer. The man approached slowly, not rushing to within reach of Lidda's sword. He held one dagger close and near his chest as though it was a shield while he threatened Lidda's defenses with the other. Even armed only with daggers, his arms were long enough to equal Lidda's reach with her sword. With a rapid slash, he swept both knives at the halfling. He was quick as a snake, and Lidda hadn't expected him to use the left-hand dagger so deftly. She dodged one blade by lunging sideways and caught the other with the hilt of her sword. A savage twist sent the stiletto spinning harmlessly away, and she threw her boot up and into the man's ribcage.

She felt more than heard the ribs crack and winced as a streak of pain went up her own side, a reminder from her tangle at the jail. Shrugging off the pain, she tumbled to the side of the man as he spun around. Somehow he had two daggers again, and he slashed with both of them a second time. At the last moment he flipped the weapon in his left hand. The butt of the knife hit the halfling across the jaw. Lidda turned her head with the strike to lessen the effect of the blow but felt the heat of pain spread across her cheek where the pommel of the dagger connected.

She spun around in a complete circle from the force of the dagger, and she used that to feign as if she was going to go down. She fell to her knees, hoping to draw the man closer. He took the bait. As he moved in for the kill, Lidda snapped her sword around in an arc that plunged it into his side.

The assassin doubled over with the blade half buried in his body. Lidda jumpd to her feet, placed both hands on the hilt, and shoved with all her might. The sword pierced completely through his body. The assassin gasped one final time, then toppled sideways. The tip of Lidda's blade struck sparks when it hit the cobblestones.

Mialee wasn't thrilled to be heading into battle without the power of her magic. She'd had no time to prepare herself in the confusion of their arrest and escape. She didn't even know where her spellbook was anymore. At least she had recovered her most essential components, she thought, fingering the pouch hanging at her belt.

She had little time to weigh options, however. A whistling noise alerted her to danger on her left side, and she ducked just as the spiked chain lashed over her head. There was no chance to regain her balance because the weapon whirled continuously, whipping to the left and right without pause. Mialee tried to scramble away but the assassin turned the chain's axis, twirling one of the balls high at the wizard's head and the other low at her legs. The lower one struck first, slicing open her knee and knocking her feet from under her. It also saved her life, because the tumble dropped her head below the whistling arc of the second spiked ball. She rolled away desperately, trying to get beyond the chains' reach.

The wizard pulled herself up to her knees then to her feet as the assassin circled. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other experimentally, and breathed a sigh of relief that her kneecap wasn't shattered. She dodged the chain again, but winced as her weight came down on the injured leg. Blood from the wound trickled into her boot.

The assassin smiled at her, twirling the chain slowly in a double figure-eight pattern.

"I swear, if I had my magic ..." Mialee cursed.

A flick of the assassin's wrist sent one of the balls straight at Mialee's head. She threw her sword up and deflected the deadly missile, but was too slow to move away from the second one that was again sweeping in at her legs. The cold steel of the chain struck against her leg and the weight of the weapon wrapped around it. Before Mialee fully realized what happened, she felt the spikes slice into her calf. The assassin yanked, pulling both handles up over his head, and Mialee tumbled to the stones in a heap.

He fell upon her at once. His spiked fist slammed the cobblestones beside the wizard's head, but she jerked from side to side rapidly to avoid the blows. She couldn't avoid his other fist, however, when it slammed down hard on her stomach. Air rushed from her lungs to be replaced by stabbing pain.

"If you had your magic, you'd what?" he sneered, raising his arm and placing one of the spikes under her chin.

Mialee gasped for breath. Spots of light flickered in her vision and tears flooded her eyes. She felt the tip of the steel spike on her flesh.

Her free hand groped into the pouch at her belt. She grabbed the first thing that her fingers fell upon and frantically tossed a handful of it into the man's face. Yellow granules of sulfur flew into his eyes and nostrils. He reeled back, coughing and wheezing. The hand around Mialee's neck loosened and the spike fell away. She kicked up, catching the assassin between his legs. He groaned and rolled to the side. The wizard pushed herself out from underneath him and scrambled crab like across the street, still gagging and struggling to refill her lungs with breath.

She nearly screamed when a huge shape burst into her vision, but instead of attacking her, it planted a massive boot heavily on the assassin's stomach. The man howled in pain, and Mialee heard a loud crack that must have been a rib. She looked at the dark shape standing over them and realized that it was Krusk. His armor, arms, hands, and even his face were drenched in blood. It dripped from the buckles of his breastplate and hung in thickening strands from his axe. It couldn't possibly all be his, Mialee realized, or he couldn't stand. He didn't even glance at her before placing the gory axe blade against the struggling assassin's neck and drawing it slowly across until metal scraped the pavement.

Lidda was at Mialee's side in seconds, tugging her to her feet.

"We've got to get back to Malthooz," she urged.

The wizard looked at the purple and black bruise on the rogue's cheek. Mialee let the rogue lift her from the ground. At least she was in good company, she thought, as the three of them limped down the street. Krusk had one hand on the halfling's shoulder and his other draped over the elf's neck. Mialee chuckled softly. She wasn't sure who was helping whom.

They found Malthooz and the druid waiting quietly in the doorway. Mialee was relieved to see that they had not been attacked or disturbed by any other assailants. Her relief faded as she stepped into the doorway, and disappeared entirely when she saw the grim look on Vadania's face.

"It is not good," the druid said as the three approached.

Malthooz lay against the door. His eyes were closed. A ragged bandage torn from the druid's cloak was wrapped around his chest. The bolt, still shiny with the half-orc's blood, lay on the cobblestones a few feet away. Mialee saw the shallow rise and fall of Malthooz's ribs. At least he's still alive, she thought. He stirred as they drew close.

"I've done all I can for him," Vadania said. "Without more magic, I can offer him little. My herbs can only do so much."

Malthooz smiled at the sight of his friends. His mouth moved, but his breath was too shallow to actually speak. He reached for the symbol of Pelor on his chest and raised it shakily. He wanted to remove it, but his head was against the wall. Krusk took his hand and cradled Malthooz's head away from the wall with his other arm, then he lifted the cord that held the holy symbol over his friend's head and handed it to him. Malthooz smiled.

"Thank you," he mouthed, nodding at Krusk's open hand.

Malthooz fingered the disk for a moment, then offered the symbol to Krusk.

"Take it," Vadania said when Krusk hesitated.

The barbarian took the thing from Malthooz's hand and placed it around his own neck. Malthooz smiled broadly.

Eva Flint rounded the corner of the building and stepped into the street. She fell back immediately into the shadow, startled at the sight that befell her. Her assassins lay in broken heaps on the slush-covered cobblestones, their weapons scattered amidst the red snow. The adventurers were again huddled in the doorway where the gnolls had penned them with their crossbows.

She cursed them, thinking about how deep a hole she'd dug herself into. Her judgment of her foes could not have been more wrong. She spat. There were four more bodies to explain, on top of Wotherwill's and likely a handful of jailhouse guards. The guild master wasn't sure that the favors she was owed would cover a scandal so big. The mayor might even decide that she was becoming an embarrassment, too much of a liability, and try to shut down the guild for a few months. That would be a disaster.

The guild master watched her enemies moving off, the barbarian holding the limp body of the other half-orc in his arms. They were walking away from her, toward the far side of the jailhouse. She sneered contemptuously, thinking of all of the planning and effort that managed to kill only one of the five, and it was the feeble one at that.

She grabbed Yauktul by the throat.

"This is the ultimate test," she said. Still gripping the terrified gnoll, she drew the staff from her belt and pressed it into the creature's shaking paws. "Take this damned thing, and don't fail me now."

The gnoll clutched the device to his chest, whimpering and cooing to it as he rubbed the globe on the top of the shaft. The yellow slits of his eyes glassed over and he mouthed silent words to himself.

Flint cursed Wotherwill's name. The artifact had brought her nothing but pain and humiliation, and she was ready to be done with it. It was no longer worth the trouble it caused. Besides, the guild master thought, she had other resources to fall back upon. The staff was worth a lot, surely, but not enough. If she was going to make a clean break from Newcoast, she didn't want the cursed staff spoiling everything all over again.

She patted Yauktul's head. "Get them, my pet. They are the ones who took your treasure, and they will take it again unless you stop them."

The gnoll growled and bared his fangs at Flint's words. His arms hugged the staff more tightly to his chest. Flint stepped back from the pair. She could feel the raw lust to kill radiating from the creature's eyes, now that they were no longer clouded with indecision.

Flint pointed Yauktul out into the street. His row of troops padded chaotically behind their commander, all of them showing the effect of the staff's proximity with their snarling and snapping at one another as each tried move as close as possible to the magical staff. The guild master studied the group coldly. She shook her head. They looked nothing like the savage but disciplined pack she'd dealt with in the past. The staff's presence had twisted them into a mob of slavering incompetents. She had little faith that they would be able to stop the adventurers from escaping.

Flint spun around and bolted for the alleyway. She knew she'd never be able to clear up the mess with the city. It was time for her to leave town. She would be glad to be rid of them all, gnolls and heroes alike. It would be hours before the extent of the night's activities were revealed. Plenty of time to wrap up loose ends and get far away.